


when i picture myself happy, it’s with you

by doreah



Series: blackout [2]
Category: Episodes (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Female Character, Blackouts, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Exes, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Late Night Conversations, Lesbian Character, Locked In A Room trope, Post-Canon, Power Outage, Second Chances, Sequel, bottle episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: a sequel to "for better, for worse" because i couldn't just leave it that miserable, could i?





	1. collect call

The power went out at precisely 10:24 PM.

 

Carol knew the exact time because she'd spent the better part of the last 15 minutes staring at the clock and willing the time to get to half-past. It was just an arbitrary time that she'd decided would be a good cut off for being a conscious human being on a Friday night. At 10:30 she could go upstairs, brush her teeth, wash her face, maybe have a quick hot shower and then crawl into bed. From there she had the option of picking up a book, turning on the TV to some inane Netflix drama to quell the persistent loneliness, or lying wide-awake in the dark and counting every single regret she had and hating every last second of her miserable, sad life. It tended to waver between the latter two. Up until the outage, the night had the distinct flavour of self-loathing and excruciating rumination.

 

“Shit.”

 

Normally, these sorts of rolling brownouts only lasted a few minutes, maybe at most an hour. She could certainly handle that, and if truth be told, having no TV and no lights wouldn't really impact her plans to lie in bed and brood over her past mistakes. She didn't need anything but herself for that. Hey, that was positive! Her shrink had told her to try looking not only at the bad things, but for the silver lining in every negative thought. So, there it was. She was completely self-sufficient at hating herself and all the bleak defeatism that incorporated.

 

Her cellphone glowed in the pitch black and she glanced at it briefly.

 

10:26 PM.

67% battery life remaining.

Wi-fi down, LTE+ on.

 

What time was it in New York? 1:30 in the morning? Hmm, it was probably too late to call Ryan. He was likely sleeping, or at the bar. Plus, she wasn't sure if she was still allowed to randomly bombard him with needy phonecalls. They were, essentially, on a break. Or broken up. Something like that. Neither of them had actually bothered to define exactly how ended the relationship was. Not because it was anyone's fault precisely but rather they'd started to drift apart, slowly losing interest in each other and for some reason, even talking about it seemed like too much work. Plus, she suspected he was cheating on her. It seemed to be the story of her life; she couldn't even count how many men had either cheated on her or been married to another woman. And worse, it was with his boss. (Again.) Part of her understood that pull way too well. Not to mention she barely had a leg to stand on. If she was going to hold Ryan to some impossible standard of not lusting over past relationships with bosses, she had to actually let hers go as well which seemed far easier to do in theory than reality.

 

Getting rid of the t-shirt hadn't really helped those months ago. Sure, it was gloriously symbolic but little else. She'd done just about everything humanly possible. Between the months of singledom, copious therapy, smoking through about 2 acres of pot with Beverly, the devastating one-night reunion, and then months on end with Ryan, it would be reasonable to assume Carol had enough experience under her belt to effectively move on from a shitty ex.

 

Except it wasn't.

 

She'd managed to forget for whole days at a time, if she was lucky. At the beginning of the the thing with Ryan, she'd made it weeks probably. Infatuation was a hell of a drug. But eventually and inevitably something would happen: Ryan would say something, Andy would give her a look, or something stupid would come on TV that threw up a memory and suddenly she'd be hit with anything from a tidal wave of crushing emotion to a small misting of mild regret. Then for anywhere from a few minutes to hours, she'd be stuck in a cycle of languishing in memories.

 

It wasn't fucking fair on anybody involved.

 

Most of all though she blamed her shrink because really, after so long and so much money, there should have been some progress. Beverly would often look at her, like she was a poor thing to be pitied, like a lost puppy or a shamed reality star contestant. Once she said she understood; she had mentioned it was love. It did annoying shit like that, like not letting someone go even when it's for the best. She'd told Carol that's exactly how it had been with Sean, with all that Morning drama. As the weeks went on, Beverly refused to say that again, seeming to believe it would only work against Carol getting over a relationship that was clearly dead and gone.

 

Nothing more had been said about Helen's engagement and Andy hadn't reported any secret gossip about fancy, exclusive weddings in Malibu. That didn't really mean much since executives were never a subject of gossip in the wider Hollywood circles and it was equally possible Helen and fucking Kate Sheridan had married on the downlow.

 

It was gross, to be this preoccupied, almost obsessive, and downright ill. Carol shook off the messy thoughts of the night and grabbed her phone, just for the flashlight she told herself. To find the other flashlights.

 

 

After a stint of scrolling through Facebook and trying to figure out how far-reaching the blackout was, and then going through Twitter, and then checking outage maps, she finally lifted herself off the sofa and wandered to the kitchen where there was supposed to be at least one flashlight. And probably a few candles. Somewhere.

 

God, she hated the dark. This kind of overwhelming pitch black set her nerves on edge. The worst part was the silence though. Instead of the gentle hum of her refrigerator, the whirl of her laptop, the murmuring of a TV, the buzz of the cable box, the grinding, blowing sound of air conditioning, everything was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. Every tiny creak seemed loud and every time the breeze even slightly rustled the trees outside, she jumped a little.

 

Fuck.

 

She couldn't pinpoint a singular experience in her life that brought on this sort of anxiety about the dark. In fact, it's not like she hadn't been inside enough dark closets, literally, for any number of sordid affairs with bosses. The dark was where she had spent most of her relationships, in all honesty. That should have led to some positive conditioning, not the opposite. The difference perhaps was that she'd been with other people, distracted, and with the knowledge that on the other side of a door was electricity and light.

 

Now she was alone in a huge house at night with zero distractions. And there was nothing beyond her door except more black silence. No streetlights were on, no front porch lights. The only things giving any sort of glow to anything were those solar-powered lamps in the garden. For the first time, possibly ever, she considered carefully why such things existed. Did people really need to look at their gardens at night? She could understand the ones along paths, but the others? Just scattered throughout bushes and flower beds? Why?

 

She couldn't think of the last time she'd glanced out her window at the garden and said, “Wow, I'm glad I can see the rockroses tonight!”

 

She winced, wondering how long the lights would stay on. She'd never actually bothered to care in the past but at this point she was halfheartedly considering bringing them inside. Just for a little bit of company at the very least.

 

Somewhere along the way, the fear of the dark—specifically this kind of powerless dark—had crept up on her without her notice and was giving bees a serious run for their money in the nightmare department.

 

“Get it together,” she hissed at herself as she fumbled around the kitchen with one hand searching for a better flashlight that didn't have only 58% battery life left. There had to be one somewhere but the longer she searched, the more drawers that yielded nothing but kitchen utensils or rolls of tinfoil, the more the feeling on unease grew in her belly. It started as a slow clenching wave, a bit sick like the leftovers from a hangover but as she slammed every useless cupboard shut, it grumbled deeper, began gnawing at her and her heartbeat grew just that little bit faster.

 

Something creaked upstairs and her vision flashed with everything from confused wildlife to rapist burglar opportunists. Time like these reminded her why it seemed like every other person owned a handgun back in Michigan. A bullet may not be able to turn back on a light, but it would take care of a cougar or raccoon or snake or rapist.

 

God, she was going to be sick. This was fucking insane.

 

The second her phone began vibrating in her hand, she almost had a heart attack. Grabbed futilely at the air as she dropped it, and let out a string of curse words and gave up as it landed with a sickening sort of crack on her super-hard quartz countertop. She took a deep breath and finally snatched it up, trying not to look too hard at any cracks that were likely to be present now. So preoccupied with not looking at the potential cracks on her stupid phone she hated, she hadn't even bothered to really look at the caller, assuming it was the usual.

 

It was not Beverly.

 

“Hello.” Not even a question. Her voice probably came out a lot more irritated than she actually felt but she couldn't quite find it within herself to play nice with her nerves so on edge.

 

“Hi,” the voice sounded a bit hesitant and Carol felt her whole body begin to shake in a very unsettling way. She shook her head and seriously considered the fact she was hearing things. Pulling the phone away from her ear she finally looked at the caller ID and clenched her teeth, as her heartbeat went wild.

 

“Hi?” Holy shit, she had so many fucking questions but absolutely nothing seemed eager to actually come out of her mouth.

 

For a moment the voice hesitated. “It's Helen.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

What the hell was going on? She was standing in the middle of her pitch black kitchen in a blackout with her ex-girlfriend on the phone for absolutely no reason. Part of her was furious about the timing, about Helen's gall to just call her up as if it wasn't actually a massively big deal. Another part of her couldn't believe that of all the distractions she'd imagined, including those involving grievous bodily harm and being buried off the Mojave freeway, this was the result.

 

“I know this is weird—”

 

“Yup.”

 

“But I...” God, it was pathetic how much just hearing Helen's voice made her feel better. The remnants of their past seemed intent on never leaving her alone. “I know how much you hate blackouts.” A sigh filtered over the line. “I thought I'd just check on you, in case.”

 

In case of what? Carol really, _really_ wanted the answer but couldn't bring herself to even ask the question. This surreal experience was already wearing down her last reserves of sanity as it was. Helen was literally calling her for no reason than to check on her, because she was apparently concerned about the safety of an ex-girlfriend who she hadn't even bothered to say boo to since that unfortunate night in New York when she kicked her out of bed and then got engaged to another woman. During a blackout. Surely there was a hidden camera somewhere that she was about to find. How did Helen even remember her fear of blackouts and why would she have held onto something like that?

 

“I'm fine.” It was automatic.

 

A hum came from the other side of the call. “Fine? On a scale from 1—”

 

“1.” Shit. She hadn't actually meant to tell the truth. This stupid game they used to play with the rating scale just kicked her into nostalgia and habit all over again. Her throat grew tighter as she thought about what was happening. She missed this goddamn fucking awful woman so much it was almost killing her.

 

Silence stretched out uncomfortably between them until Helen finally sighed. “Did you want to come over?” She obviously hesitated and debated her next words. “Or, if you don't want to drive, I can... go over there.”

 

Okay. Holy shit. What the fuck was happening?!

 

In what parallel universe was she living where her engaged, possibly married, ex-girlfriend was offering to just casually drop by during a blackout. For what? To hang out? To take care of her? Like, what was the endgame here. Carol didn't feel comfortable not knowing people's endgames, or their motivation at all. Everything sucked at the moment because obviously the stupid, weak, lonely part of her wanted Helen to rush right over and spend the night, or more, and just pick up where they'd left off so many months back. But then the sensible, broken part of her kept screaming warnings about even considering the thought. _Remember the last time! Remember she's engaged! Remember how you dumped her too! Remember all the bullshit and everything that's been going through your head for weeks now!_

 

“You there?”

 

She must have paused way too long and in a moment of panic, she brazenly admitted the truth. “Yeah, yeah.” Her breath hiccuped a little. “Come over.” _Please_.

 


	2. less than lovers, more than friends

A knock thundered through the house. Oh right, the doorbell didn't work without power. It was actually a bit mind-boggling how dependent they all were on simple electricity for absolutely everything. Carol managed to squint her way towards her own door, only half-knowing the way by heart in the dark. The one flashlight she had eventually found came with batteries that were clearly dying as the light glowed a duller yellow than it should, occasionally dimming noticeably. She stood behind the front door for a moment, steadying her breathing and willing the trembling in her limbs to stop. Even though it was probably Helen, there was still no real way to know.

 

As she pulled it open, a loud breath of relief escaped. It had taken a shocking amount of willpower to even pull open the door at all and likely, had it not been Helen, she would have simply passed out right there in her own foyer.

 

“Hey.” Helen's voice was soft, her eyes too, at least in the dimming light of her old flashlight.

 

“Hey,” the younger woman responded, backing up. “Come in.” It took every ounce of strength not to kiss her, even chastely, like they used to. There were far too many old habits hanging in the air around them.

 

They both walked carefully through the foyer as Carol led the way, flicking the beam of light every which way. She'd noticed a rather large duffel bag on Helen's shoulder and while, sure, it could be full of clothes, she wondered how long exactly Helen planned on staying, or how long the blackout was expected for. In the fraction of illumination they had, Helen made her way to the coffee table and dumped the bag down, immediately shuffling through it for something particular. Within a few moments, the room was lit up by a battery-operated lantern of some kind.

 

In the white LED glow, Helen shrugged. “My son really loved camping, for one summer. We have all his shit still.” She dove back into the bag that Carol had thought was full of overnight clothes and pulled out more flashlights. A pack of D batteries. And a huge candle. “You must have candles.”

 

Wincing, Carol looked helplessly into the dark.

 

“Well, okay,” Helen began, her voice taking on a much more defined and confident tone. “How about you sit down and I'll look for candles? You can use my iPad. It's got a bunch of shit on it.” She tossed the tablet to Carol who slowly lowered herself onto the sofa, in a bit of awe. Within a few seconds, Helen had melted into the blackness and the only thing Carol could see was the bouncing of the flashlight beam off walls elsewhere.

 

Even with the gentle mumble of some upcoming Hulu screener on the iPad (nice perk, Helen), the house was so quiet she could hear the footsteps of the older woman upstairs and perhaps the rushing of water through pipes. Within another few moments, Helen was back downstairs, juggling an armful of candles Carol had no idea even existed and lit a few, placing them on the table. She switched off the eerie lantern and cast the room into a much more comfortable orange light. If her anxiety wasn't so monstrously high and the threat of vomit creeping up her throat so noticeable, it may have even seemed romantic. In the glint of candlelight, Carol couldn't help but notice there were no rings on any of Helen's fingers. Not an engagement ring, and especially not a wedding ring. That didn't exactly mean anything in itself but it certainly could.

 

Without another word, Helen sat down at the far end of the sofa and took out her Kindle, apparently just settling in for a while.

 

 _Again_ —Carol wanted to scream— _what the fuck was happening?_

 

This sort of thing was not normal. Previously engaged ex-girlfriends did not just come over to be nice and kind and then sit in silence like they were just great friends. Friendship first was not something Carol had ever been accustomed to and that hadn't changed with this woman. They'd been acquaintances (in the worst way possible), then coworkers, then lovers, then enemies, then lovers again, then maybe friends sort of for a bit but mixed in with the other lovers stuff, then enemies again, then that one night stand from Hell, and now this. This was something else entirely that Carol had absolutely no frame of reference for. She couldn't quite focus on the show in front of her because every time she finally looked down, something would draw her gaze right back over to Helen, who was sitting there, the picture of comfort with her legs tucked up and absorbed in whatever she was reading.

 

It was so damn _nice_.

 

Just as she was settling into the night with her nerves calming, Helen disappeared upstairs again. It was funny how quickly the loneliness and uneasiness could come flooding back even surrounded by scented candles. Pipes creaked above and the gentle thud of footfalls came back down the staircase.

 

“Bath's ready, when you want it.”

 

Carol couldn't help jumping at the sudden sound. “What?”

 

The older woman shrugged as she settled back down on the sofa. “Just thought I'd use up the hot water in the tank before it goes cold.” She glanced over in the dim light. “Power's supposed to be out for a day or so.”

 

“Is it?” She wondered what that meant to this arrangement. Daytime was easier, lighter, less stress but eventually night would come again.

 

“Mmm.” Helen nodded, seemingly absorbed in whatever she was reading again. The blue glow from her screen illuminated her face in a strange, otherworldly way. Like she wasn't quite real. Maybe she wasn't and this was all a terrible nightmare, again.

 

She considered the bath. It would actually be really nice to just chill out in the bath, surrounded by candles, and read a book. And considering they may not have any hot water for another 24-36 hours, perhaps it would be best to clean now while she still could. But then Helen was down here, curled up at the other end of her sofa, just like old times. Except it was much darker and there was no shitty comedy on TV. 5 minutes. She'd give herself 5 minutes to just enjoy this before isolating herself upstairs again.

 

She pressed play on the app again and the show she had no name for began playing again. Squinting, once, then again, she tried to remember what was happening. After trying for a minute to recall everything she'd literally just watched, she flipped back to the beginning and tried again. Man, if her network could have nabbed something with this sort of gritty draw, they'd be in the money.

 

“Who are the writers on this?” Carol eventually snapped back into workmode, almost a defence mechanism to cope with the total strangeness of the whole situation.

 

Helen glaced up, a look of confusion on her face. “Which show?”

 

Carol looked down again, trying to remember if she'd seen the titles yet. “I don't know. This one,” she said, turning the screen to Helen who again, just sort of grimaced. The younger woman turned it back to herself and stared, waiting for a title to come up, and almost without realising it, Helen was next to her, peering over her shoulder to see the show.

 

God, she was so close, and warm, and nice smelling, and familiar. And safe.

 

“Oh, that was Jennings and his team. You know the same group from that—that HBO thing a few years back.” She leant back in the cushions, her Kindle dropping to her lap as they both watched the screener for a minute or two.

 

Carol took a deep, stuttering breath as she attempted to concentrate on the plot. It was a good show, possibly even great, and she should be super jealous Hulu got this instead of her network, but no show, nothing— _nothing_ —was stronger than the shit flying around in her head at the moment. A bomb could probably go off next door and she'd still be preoccupied with the nearness of Helen: the slight, steady movement of her chest as she breathed, the light fruity sort of scent that could be shampoo or perfume or body lotion, the gentle warmth of her body even through layers of clothes, the way their upper arms kind of rested against each other, casually, comfortably. Then there was the other part of her brain that was longing for something more. She couldn't place it exactly but it was a tug, like a dull ache somewhere deep in her body that wanted Helen to move even closer, to kiss her even. Nice and hard like before, like they couldn't live without each other again. But also she wanted something soft too, like before as well. Like those nights when they were lying in bed after a particularly bad or stressful day and were just with each other and the rest of the world disappeared.

 

Literally, at the moment, the rest of the world had disappeared. With only a small sliver of the moonlight even visible, the world was black and there was barely any light indoors except by the limited candlelight.

 

Breaking the quiet rumble of sound effects coming from the iPad, Carol couldn't help herself. She was done with unbearable growing tension and the way the muscles in her shoulders twisted tighter and tighter as the minutes passed, slowly. It was starting to make her neck ache. “Why are you here?”

 

Beside her, Helen stiffened. “Honestly?”

 

“That would be nice.”

 

She huffed out a sigh and a laugh. “I guess, maybe...” She was obviously trying to come up with something, and normally when people did that, they were inventing a lie. “I don't know.”

 

_Okay, not helpful._

 

“The power went out, and my first thought—okay, second thought truthfully—was about you, and that time we had that mini-blackout that time and you completely flipped out.” She let the idea hang in the air between them for a second. “And I didn't know if your boyfriend was around so I just thought I'd check on you, you know, in case.”

 

Oh right. Ryan. _Hmm_. Was he her boyfriend still? The fact she even had to wonder about that was probably the only answer she needed.

 

“But why are you _here_?”

 

Checking up on her well-being wasn't really an answer. That was done on the phone. That could have been a quick stop by. It didn't require Helen to be hanging out on her sofa, reading a book, and running her a bath. Or staying the night.

 

Helen bit down on her bottom lip briefly and looked over at her ex. “I thought maybe we could be friends.”

 

 _Ew, gross._ Friends? No. That sounded ridiculous. How could anybody with their history ever be just friends? It simply didn't seem possible, even if they could somehow ignore all the bad shit that went down. Quite frankly, Carol didn't understand how she could be friends with someone she was still in love with.

 

Yeah.

 

That's what this whole fucking mess boiled down to.

 

“Friends?” her voice squeaked out.

 

“Yeah, why not?” Helen sounded honestly confused about how it could possibly be a terrible idea destined to blow up in both their faces.

 

Carol was trying to decide how to work it out. “What about Kate?” It felt like every time they managed a conversation alone, that was the question that kept popping up, over and over. She was getting really damn sick of worrying about stupid perfect Kate Sheridan, and what the crazy demon would do if she even got a whiff of this.

 

Helen groaned and leaned back in the sofa, her face skyward, staring up at the black ceiling. “It's done. Whatever.”

 

“Like last time, then?” Carol snapped out before she could catch her tone and make it nice. She was still hanging onto that horrible time at the upfronts. It had been a really, fucking shitty thing of Helen to do that night, knowing full well that whatever spat she'd had with Kate wasn't a certainty. And even worse that morning.

 

She sat up straight, glaring at Carol, a small hint of anger in her brown eyes. “No, not like last time.” The insult and disbelief was apparent in the sharp tone. “Walking out on someone after your engagement party sort of hammers the nails in that coffin.”

 

There were a lot of questions swirling around now, but there was nothing Carol could really vocalize. Her throat was tight, her mouth dry, and her tongue felt swollen and sticky. Mostly, she wondered if in all honesty, the fact Kate was out of the picture was the only reason Helen was here at all. Helen's thigh was so close; she could just reach out and place her hand there, softly. But there was no point in doing that.

 

“Well, you should probably go up and have a bath before the water gets cold.” Her voice was measured and careful again, detached almost and Carol hated the distance. “I'll get out of your way. You can borrow the iPad. Keep the candles. If you want, I can call you tomorrow—or not.”

 

There was a moment where neither woman moved. Helen was clearly waiting for some sort of signal, and Carol was frozen, trying to figure what was going on and how to best handle it. Surely Helen wasn't angry. How could she be, after such an expected, understandable question? Finally, not willing to wait any longer, the older woman stood and walked over to her bag.

 

Despite everything she wanted to say, only the one thing seemed to be pressing. “You're not staying?” Her voice was small, wavering, and Carol resented how she sounded so fucking needy and vulnerable. Well, she was needy and vulnerable but she didn't want Helen to know that. Ever. It had been idiotic to get her hopes up over something a friend generally would do. If it had been Beverly, she wouldn't have thought twice about her coming over, or leaving. Funny how being in love with someone made all of that achingly different and difficult.

 

“Wasn't planning on it.” She held up her empty bag as she reached for her Kindle. “Didn't pack for it.”

 

She really hadn't and as much as Carol didn't think it was possible, clearly Helen did think they could be just friends. She was literally going to come over, and then go. Like a fucking friend. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe Helen honestly didn't have any feelings left, not of the kind that Carol did anyway. Hell, even her shrink had thought it crazy to still be dwelling on their past relationship and normal people, even those involved, should have moved on already. Helen probably had a better therapist.

 

She moved over to the sofa again and perched on an arm, looking down at Carol. Something resembling a bit of concern seemed to be on her face but there was no way to be sure. It was so dark. “Do you want me to stay?”

 

 _Oh, god, yes._ She couldn't say that of course but the relief that flooded her veins just at the fact she didn't need to beg was like a drug. With careful consideration, she managed to calm herself enough to pass for a normal human being. A friend. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Okay,” Helen said slowly, pausing to think about something before tossing Carol a flashlight and blowing out a few candles. “Go have that bath. I'll try to find something to wear.”

 

By this point, Carol was feeling the beginning twinges of guilt because she knew that she was milking this whole blackout thing for as much as she could. She also suspected Helen knew that too but wasn't saying anything, either because she too enjoyed it, or in truth, was probably just being nice.

 

Now, Helen wasn't a nice person, exactly. She wasn't a kind person either. If you met her at work or in the street or at a party, you may find her charming, dynamic, and confident, but _kind_ wouldn't be your first, second, or fifth thought. Anyone being asked to describe Helen Basch would be hard up to be able to utter “nice” without sputtering laughter. And she'd be the first person to say that too. The woman would visibly bristle if people called her anything remotely close to “nice”, probably because she had a reputation and a need to be seen as powerful at all times. So, her kindness was not something that she allowed out of a very carefully constructed boundary at the best of times, and definitely not at the worst of times. However, Carol knew, probably better than anyone, the capacity for kindness, gentility, softness that Helen clung onto in private. She'd guess that maybe the kids could give her a run for her money on how well they knew the more vulnerable side of their mother but still, there was a difference between being kind and compassionate to your own children and being loving and sweet and protective of your partner.

 

So, at times like this, Carol enjoying milking it, playing the game even if they both knew it was bullshit. She didn't need saving, and she was a grown-ass adult woman perfectly capable of working a flashlight and going to bed but she'd put on the act, basically play helpless if it worked to her benefit. And Helen, who was the exact opposite of stupid, knew full well what they were doing but it gave her an excuse to stick around, play her role as the very capable person in charge who was just doing what any capable, important person would do.

 

It was all rather pathetic when it was broken down into its pieces like that. They shouldn't need to put on these masks with each other, and there actually had been a time when they didn't. Those months inbetween the nixed deposition and when Carol ghosted her, when they were dealing with her pregnancy and then the miscarriage, there had been no airs. No pretending that they were other people around each other. It had simply been two women, in love, working through shit, without lies or false faces.

 

Of course it was different now because as much as they still may be two women, and quite possibly in love as well, they were actively not working through shit and there was some very definite play-acting going on.

 

As she followed Helen up the stairs, it became more apparent that the night, unlike her previous plans, was not going to be a simple repeat of lying in bed, self-loathing, and falling asleep in the pitch black night. Helen wandered down the hallway towards Carol's room (of course she still acted like the place was hers), and the blonde slipped into the large bathroom that was glowing with flickering light. Obviously Helen had run the bath in here instead. Her en-suite tub was just tiny and uncomfortable—but it was so much closer to her bed.

 

Shit. It looked like some cliched scene from any number of romance movies. Candles scattered around, casting soft shadows and even softer light. A bubble bath, probably still quite hot knowing how Helen liked to run it scalding. All that was missing was a bottle of wine by the side of the tub and a bed of rose petals on the bathmat. She had to insistently remind herself that this was in fact an actual emergency situation (technically) and not the plot of a weekly sitcom on her network.

 

The bath was fucking great. And sure, it had all been done under the guise of “not wasting hot water” or whatever, but it was relaxing most of all. To just lie in the hot water, bubbles up to her chin, eyes closed and breathe deeply and calmly for the first time all night: Heaven. And then she heard the patter of feet coming into the room. One eye cracked open to see Helen wandering in, again like she owned the place. She had that effect on a room. No one could ever accuse her of being a shrinking violet.

 

Carol gazed at her fully, taking in the fact she was dressed in some of Carol's own old sweats and t-shirt, her hair tied up and relaxed. (Thank god Helen hadn't found that James Perse that she kept tucked away in a bottom drawer. It didn't smell like Helen anymore but the thought was still there.) Without even asking, the older woman opened the vanity doors under the sink and shuffled things around.

 

In that minute, there was a sense that they'd never actually broken up. Perhaps the last few months were all a nightmare because right now, it was like nothing had ever changed.

 

“Do you have a spare toothbrush? My mouth is disgusting.” Helen's voice was muffled in the cupboard doors as she pushed various toiletries around. The whole thing was fucking Carol up a bit too much with its regularity, its unremarkable routine. It felt too comfortable. All those habits that she'd felt yanking at her when Helen had first walked through the door came at her again, pummelling her into some odd kind of submission.

 

“Up. Other side. Your toothbrush is still there.” _Oh, goddamn it_. Honestly, she hadn't mean to say that bit. Helen would have figured it out anyway when she saw the damn thing. But no, she had to blurt it out like it wasn't a completely creepy thing to hang onto an ex's used toothbrush for months on end. If she was being honest, it wasn't some odd souvenir thing. She'd really not got around to sort through all the junk in her cupboards. At first she'd been to depressed to bother, and then after the thing with Ryan started, too busy to care.

 

“Oh.” That's all Helen could seem to say as she pulled it down from a shelf. For a moment, she leaned against the sink, toothbrush dangling in hand, and stared curiously at Carol in the bath. There was a question itching to come out, she could sense that much but Helen hung tightly onto it, instead only letting a quirk of her eyebrow and smirk free. As she turned back around and pulled out a tube of toothpaste, Carol couldn't help smiling. It was the sort of feeling they'd shared so long ago, so relaxed and natural. Sliding a bit further into the hot water, she blew bubbles away from her face.

 

Helen just stood there in the bathroom, brushing her teeth like they were right back in the good times again. For a moment, Carol just watched carefully, her heart feeling strange, fluttering even. It was so goddamn easy. There was Helen, clad in Carol's clothes, frothing up like a rabid animal with the sheer amount of toothpaste she insisted on using, hair tied up, her feet bare.

 

Months ago, they'd been a very similar position as this one, except Carol was a bit more cramped in her en-suite and Helen was in an old pair of her own shorts from Berkeley and one of Carol's baggy t-shirts. And they actually had electricity. She remembers how they were talking, about something trivial and stupid probably, laughing even maybe? And the toothpaste foam just kept building as Carol regaled her girlfriend with some story from the office, probably. It could have been about something she saw on HGTV. The most vivid memory was the way Helen laughed at some part of it, turned to her with this idiotic smile on her face, complete with practically a beard of frothing toothpaste, and then quickly ran up to her. It was probably one of the grossest kisses she'd ever had—but she'd loved it. Helen's fucking toothpaste had smeared itself all over her face as well and she'd reached underwater to throw a wave of lukewarm bathwater at her in retaliation.

 

They'd laughed differently then.

 

That was before the miscarriage. Before the break-up. Before the night in New York.

 

She really wanted that back.

 


	3. need the sun to break

There was something the drove Carol crazy about this exact moment. And not like crazy in a bad way, or even necessarily a good way either. Just crazy. Like pulse racing, blood pumping, butterflies in stomach, ears ringing, fingers twitching crazy. And what was probably the worst part about it all was that it was something that really was so banal and everyday that it actually might be legitimately a mental condition to get this worked up over. She'd settled into her bed, iPad in hand in the scary dark abyss of her powerless house, and Helen strode in later, fresh out of the bath (which she'd taken alone after Carol of course), blasting that beam of white light every which way as if she didn't know the way to Carol's bed by heart. (Maybe she had forgotten.)

 

They didn't speak; they hadn't spoken about it. Words seemed to be cumbersome and heavy these days so Helen just did as she always had, and helped herself to whatever she felt was in their best interests. Over time, obviously, she'd become much better at predicting exactly what that would be rather than just what made her feel better only. And this time didn't seem to indicate that she'd lost that intuition because she was doing precisely what Carol wanted.

 

She placed the flashlight down, off, on the nightstand and pulled back the heavy comforter that Carol insisted on using even when the temperature outside was in the mid-90s. (“Air conditioning, duh,” she'd said like the most obvious thing in the world.)

 

It was basically those few seconds of feeling and knowing it was Helen crawling in her bed for the night, and they weren't drunk or stoned or messed up. There could be no excuses come morning for their wild behaviour or terrible decisions. And it didn't even really seem to matter that they were just friends, or whatever, and this was just like any other friend sharing her bed. Yeah, because sharing a bed with her friends was such a common occurrence for a 40-year-old network executive. She'd even let that slide just for the sake of soaking up the feeling of finally being back in this place, platonic as it was.

 

Carol took a small glimpse over in the blue dim glow of the iPad and was careful not to stare for long. She waited until Helen had settled before clicking shut the case and ramming them both into darkness. It was fucking dark. But next to her she could feel Helen's body, hear her soft breathing, the rustle of sheets.

 

Somehow, unlike the rest of the night so far, this darkness gave her confidence. They couldn't see each other; no telltale grimaces or smiles or looks of fear. It was just sound and touch. As she lay down facing Helen, if she could see, that is, she sighed. “So, what happened with Kate?”

 

“Seriously?” Well, Helen certainly didn't sound pleased. That much was glaringly obvious just by tone alone.

 

“Yeah. Seriously.”

 

The whole room plunged into silence again and Carol knew she'd hit a nerve--or two. For a while, all she could feel was tension, in the air, in her muscles, in her breath. Maybe Helen wasn't even going to answer; it was completely possible. The longer she waited for any sort of acknowledgement that Helen had even the tiniest chance of responding, the more she expected the other woman to just hop out of bed. Carol's eyes were slowly adjusting the lack of light and the glow of the moon outside sneaked inside her bedroom.

 

“I, um,” came the voice, husky and soft. “I just couldn't. When everyone had left from the party, we were sitting there and I just looked at her. And, uh, the thing is...” Helen flopped onto her back and the whole bed shook. She inhaled deeply. “I realized that when I picture myself happy, it’s not with her. I stared at her forever and I couldn't see it. I couldn't see... So, I sort of, shut the whole thing down.” Helen groaned loudly, slapping the duvet with a hand. “Whatever.”

 

“So who—” Her voice was barely above a whisper, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer. At least, she hoped for a specific answer.

 

“You. It's always been you. You know that.” She paused but Carol couldn't think of anything to fill the silence. “It's been you since that stupid day in the office, after that first weekend, when you...”

 

“Ah.” Oh, she remembered the afternoon doing those 'budget numbers'. It had less to do with Excel spreadsheets and far more to do with uncomfortable sofas and copious heavy petting. Even sometimes now, even though the office was hers and had been renovated, she still occasionally had flashbacks to the way Helen had literally made her limbs tingle and go numb that orgasm had been so intense. And then how she had to walk back out into the hallway later as if her whole world hadn't completely tilted and left her grasping for meaning. “Still?”

 

“Why else would I be here?” She didn't sound frustrated exactly, but maybe a little irritated. Or just sad. Yeah, maybe her voice was just sad and tired.

 

Carol rolled over, and stared into the dark. With the small amount of light from outside and her eyes adjusting better, she could see the barest outline of the person beside her. Part of her wanted to be offended that the only reason Helen was here wasn't actually to be a kind friend, but rather some sort of ulterior motivation that involved rehashing the same old thing they'd failed at twice now, or three times if you actually counted those 9 hours in New York.

 

The wonderful thing about the blackout was that Helen couldn't see her face clearly, so everything that was parading through her head wouldn't be visible. It shouldn't have really been a concern however since after a few moments of quiet contemplation, she burrowed into the duvet and reached out, searching around for Helen. Without as much hesitation as she had anticipated, her whole body seemed to move of its own accord forwards and into the crook of Helen's shoulder. It was such a familiar feeling to be nestled alongside her in this way, the same position they'd been in so often as they talked at night, or in the morning. It was, essentially, her happy place.

 

“I...tried,” Carol finally sighed as her hand gripped at the loose fabric of Helen's t-shirt and she felt fingers stroking gently over her shoulders. “But I can't either...”

 

She had tried so fucking hard to get over Helen, to move on, be healthy and happy, like everybody said was possible. And it probably was possible, somehow. Other people seemed to manage just fine after a particular period of time and effort. Maybe she just hadn't given it enough time or paid her shrink enough money but it hadn't happened for her. There was a formula that her dumb therapist had given her that had something to do with the amount of time you were in the relationship and something about how often you saw the person, and whatever the functions were, but she'd come out with about a year to fully move on from Helen. In truth, she hadn't given it a full year but she'd have thought getting into a new relationship that she actually enjoyed would have fast-tracked that.

 

Whatever the reason, she failed horribly which left her right here, back in bed with the woman she couldn't seem to escape. _Happy_. That was the key takeaway from this whole experience, in her opinion, anyway. Nothing felt more important than the fact that she hadn't been this happy in fucking months, and they were literally doing nothing more than lying in bed, in the dark, together, in silence.

 

It wasn't the sex that she missed. Well, not _only_ the sex, despite Beverly's insistence that part of her inability to let go had a lot to do with just having fulfilling sex for possibly the first time ever and all the weird attachment issues that come with that. Her theory had appeared to be bolstered completely by the whole upfronts incident. Of course Carol liked that part of the relationship, and she'd be lying if she ever said sex with Ryan hadn't been just a little bit disappointing in contrast, but what struck her really, especially in the last hour or so, was how Helen had been so much more than that. Having Helen curled up on the other end of the sofa, reading her dumb ebooks, or sitting in the bath and watching Helen standing there in her bare feet and borrowed pyjamas as she brushed her teeth gave a seriously different feeling. Something that she had never, _ever_ felt before or since but she had been searching for basically her entire life.

 

As she felt the gentle rise and fall of Helen's breathing, she sighed, concentrating on the way Helen's fingers slowly drew circles on her arm.

 

“How many times do you think we can do this before we get it right?”

 

It was an honest question, and even more of an honest concern. Could they ever get it right? Carol shrugged, trying to ignore the voices that were screaming at her how if it hadn't worked by now, the chances were really slim for the future. “Third time's a charm, right?” They could just ignore New York because that had been too drunk and half-assed, and honestly, neither of them had tried for anything real.

 

“Hmm.” The sound was normally associated with some non-committal acknowledgement but when Helen hummed, it sounded more like hope. Like a prayer, of the sort where you were desperate for relief and grateful for the chance to try again. Well, until she actually spoke again, that is. “Maybe we should try the friends thing?”

 

Woah, okay. Now Carol was ready to do something like explode, but less gory because the suggestion not only seemed completely nonsensical, but it was... too late? And _why_? She wasn't sure there could be any worse idea than slamming on the brakes after they'd been through so much in the past and were, unless Helen was having some kind of dissociative trip, very much not behaving like friends at all at the moment. It sort of put the past into a strange perspective however because if this—like, them lying in her bed, together, touching like this, after months of a relationship in the past—was what Helen thought friends did, no wonder she had such an issue with Beverly back then.

 

But this was very much not platonic friendship and Carol could count on one hand the number of times Beverly had even hugged her, let alone crawled into bed with her, in her pyjamas. Like no, it didn't matter how stoned or drunk on shitty wine she'd managed to get at the Lincoln's place, that was never, _ever_ even a remote possibility.

 

“What sort of friends do _you_ have?” It had to be asked. She literally could not handle stalling whatever they had, again, for some cheap attempt at friendship, and she definitely could not handle the idea that this was normal friend behaviour for Helen.

 

There was a snort from Helen as she must have realised how stupid her suggestion was. But when the silence stretched out longer and longer between them, Carol was beginning to doubt her interpretation. Like, neither of them moved much and Helen certainly didn't pull away, or even stiffen up. Her hand was still slowly stroking over Carol's skin in a way that was very far from friendly and there was no way in hell this was platonic, yet the older woman seemed intent on insisting it was.

 

Gathering all that was left of her nerve, Carol sighed and pulled herself up a little, just enough to look over Helen's face in the shine of moonlight. “I don't want to be your friend, okay?”

 

The body under her seemed to turn to stone for a moment and the air around them felt heavy, suffocating. “Okay.” There'd been a handful of times Carol had heard this sort of uncertainty in Helen's voice and they were few and far between. Very rarely was the sheer vulnerability exposed. “What do you want then? It was you—”

 

“I know. Okay? I know that. I've known that for a really long time and believe me, I've thought about it a lot. A _lot_.”

 

“And?” God, Helen actually sounded scared somehow. They'd played this game quite bit after the law firm toilets, when Helen would just wait, gently probe until Carol took the reigns and the control. It all had been a technique her therapist had insisted she practice daily. Because really, when it came down to their failures as a couple, it always revolved around communication. But what didn't really? The thing that Carol's own shrink had mentioned once was that healthy communication, although a difficult thing to achieve for most people, was not impossible and if you could solve that, pretty much everything else could be approached. Of course, Carol hadn't quite believed it at the time on her own end but it's not like she had any other options left now. She wanted Helen, and no amount of false people-pleasing or any collection of well-intentioned lies would actually help her there.

 

Taking a long, deep breath, Carol squinted in the dark, a bit surprised at how bright the moon actually was, especially at the angle it was shining into her bedroom now. With only a slight wince, she decided to spill out her truth. _You're in this relationship too. You're allowed to ask for what you want._ Beverly's voice from all those years ago, in a totally different situation but still relevant, came to mind. “I think that you should stay the night. And tomorrow, you should go to your house and find that ring you got for me in New York and give it to me.”

 

She shrugged as best as she could from her position hovering like some kind of creep over Helen. “I mean, if you still have it or, gave it...”

 

“Of course I didn't. She never even saw it.”

 

Now, it was Carol's turn to be a little bit choked up. “But you kept it?” Part of her hadn't really believed Helen would have kept it for all that time, especially if she was getting engaged to another woman. But then again, Carol remembered how she'd hung onto that damned t-shirt the whole time with Ryan as well, and most of that it was hidden, at the back of her bottom drawer, still with the lightest hint of Helen's scent. (Until that breakdown-slash-laundry day from Hell.)

 

Two hands gently pulled her down to lie tightly alongside Helen. She managed to burrow her face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply and slowly like this was something that was bound to disappear in a few minutes. “Can I just... are you saying what I'm hearing?”

 

“Maybe. Why?” Her voice reached that terribly nasal octave despite being buried in Helen's soft hair.

 

It could possibly be trembling but Carol wasn't entirely sure what she was feeling and moreover, she wasn't certain who it was coming from either. Without any word of warning, she felt strong hands pushing against her shoulders, moving her away.

 

It wasn't rough, of course. Carol couldn't even imagine 'Helen' and 'rough' in the same sentence because, physically anyway, she was anything but. Firm, strong, confident: yes, all of those. With respect, even reverence almost. But surprisingly for a person who postured the way Helen did, she was never, _ever_ pushy in a way that felt remotely uncomfortable. And that, when it actually came down to it, was pretty amazing since Carol would be the first to admit she was often nervous and uncomfortable about everything, and often for no reasons whatsoever. She'd felt uncomfortable about the ways both Castor and Merc had touched her, much moreso in retrospect but she guessed that even in the moment, she'd noticed something had been off. She was just such a fantastic fucking liar that she could do it even to herself and believe it.

 

Now, she found herself on her back, nervous but her heart racing in a way that she knew wasn't even close to fear or anxiety. It probably had more to do with arousal and the fact that, very possibly, she'd just proposed marriage... To a woman whom she wasn't even in a relationship with. During an emergency blackout situation. It was pretty fucked up—except it didn't _feel_ fucked up at all. Especially when she felt the touch of Helen's lips against her own, only softly at first.

 

It was hard to pinpoint exactly what happened inside of her chest at precisely that moment but there was fluttering and heat and this unbearable urge to reach out and touch in return with this spidering arousal pumping out from the centre of her very being. Whatever was happening in her heart was burning a very different kind of feeling lower. Maybe it was because it had been so many months since she'd last kissed Helen and that sort of desperation tended to turn rational people a little batty at first. But maybe it was because this is exactly what it was supposed to feel like with a person. Everyone else wasn't worth the time, or effort, or labor.

 

It had taken way, way too many years and way too many lonely nights to come to this rather basic revelation.

 

Kissing Helen, even just like this, all soft and slow, was driving her wild enough as it was. There'd been a lot—like, a lot—of men in her life where frenzied kisses and hard sex had tricked her into believing that was passion, or love. It had really been expectation and lust. Simple things really. Easy things to achieve. As she reached up, cradling the other woman's jaw and pulling her just that little bit closer, and feeling the way her entire body just melted and thrummed at the same time, now that _was_ different.

 

Helen's kiss tasted of spearmint toothpaste. Nothing particularly romantic about that on its own. She smelled like face wash and fabric softener. Again, nothing special. But the way her weight just rested beside her, and the way her lips moved like she was memorizing ever moment, and the way her breath was just swallowed up by their kisses and the way she made those almost inaudible sounds of pleasure, it all meant so much more. She'd waited 40 goddamn years for just _this_ , right here. That was way too long to find the person who had been in front of her face, who she couldn't seem to escape since she had been in her mid-20s. She couldn't have found a longer, more roundabout way to love if she had actually been trying.

 

For a second, Helen stopped. Her breath came out with an uncharacteristic tremble, unsure still. “Please tell me you're serious.”

 

 _15 years_. Right in front of her nose. She'd wasted so much time already.

 

“Yes.” Hesitation suddenly seemed like the furthest thing from her thoughts and a smile broke out across her face, and even in the dim light of the moon she saw the reflection on Helen's face too. Something like years of fear seemed to dissipate in the aftermath of that single syllable. Everything had been so, so damn simple and her whole life had hidden the truth. And yeah, she really should be freaking out at this exact moment but that part of her that usually did hysterical internal somersaults was strangely still. Old flighty, anxious, screwball Carol that she'd been for much of her adult life—that woman she'd been before they broke up the first time—didn't seem to be in attendance anymore. She decided to try pushing it even further because just maybe this sudden calm thing would be the new normal.

 

She slowly ran a hand through Helen's loose hair; it was so familiar, so calming. The way Helen's eyes slipped closed at her touch made her throat tighten and her eyes water just the tiniest amount. “I'm going to put this place on the market,” she whispered out, watching Helen's face like a hawk.

 

The confusion and worry were obvious on the older woman's face as her eyes snapped open, even with the shadows. “What? Are you—”

 

“Yeah,” Carol said with a small smile. “I'm sure.” There had been too much waiting already, too much time wasted, too much running away, too much fear. Going all in hard and fast and recklessly seemed to be the only way around all the overthought roadblocks she threw in front of herself and her happiness. If she didn't have time to think about it, it tended to work out better.

 

With a huge sigh, Helen flopped down beside her on the mattress, curling up against her side, leaving Carol to stare blankly at the incredibly black ceiling. She could feel warm breath against her neck and Helen's arm holding her tightly. Then, in the darkness as all her other senses grew more sensitive, she thought she felt a shake and heard a strange, unfamiliar sound.

 

The thing was Carol had never actually seen Helen cry before, not properly. She'd seen her tear up, heard the wobble in her voice about a difficult subject; she'd seen desperation and fear and sadness. But she couldn't quite recall actual tears before—mostly because the one time she may have borne witness, she'd been the cause and run away instead. In fairness, it's not as if she could actually see Helen now either but she felt it; she knew.

 

Something about the other woman's reaction made her feel incredibly safe, like she was making exactly the best decision although the presence of someone crying usually meant the opposite. Gone was the racing pulse, the strangled breaths, and the mild heart attacks that often accompanied big life decisions, or well, _any_ decision at all. Mostly, it seemed, because she sensed that it wasn't a bad thing, but a happy one, like the relief rather than the regret.

 

And, honestly? It felt pretty damn good to have someone so fucking excited to be with her. That was something else that nobody—not Ed, not Merc, not Castor, not even Ryan—had ever expressed. The first three had zero intentions at any point, and the last one sort of just slipped into the cracks that Helen had left open and set up shop in some sort of intense roommate-with-excellent-benefits situation.

 

“Are you... okay?” She couldn't help the tiny chuckle from bubbling up and she could feel the accompanying laughter.

 

“Yes,” came the mumble from the pillow next to her head as Helen pulled herself out of the warmth. “I'm just fucking happy.” She was beaming and Carol was actually left speechless for a moment because she realised she hadn't thought she'd ever see that sight again... and it was in front of her again. Nothing felt better.

 

“I'm actually shaking.” A disbelieving laugh erupted from Helen's throat at her own admission. “This is crazy. Are you freaking out? It's okay—”

 

Carol lolled her head to the side with a huge grin on her face to mirror Helen's and as their eyes met in the dark, she knew it was better than anything before. “I'm _fine_ ,” Carol assured her in the most convincing way she could. And she didn't even have to lie this time. “I'm... happy too. That's all.”

 

_Not scared. Not doubtful. Not anxious._

 

As Helen pulled her back into her arms, held her, kissed her soundly like they could just do this forever, she finally trusted herself, possibly for the first time ever in her life.

 

_Simply happy._

 

It felt like so many months ago at that stupid pre-pre-natal session when they had sat there, on the floor of some fake boho yoga studio and Helen had just held her. She'd felt every rise and fall of breath and her heartbeat echoed back. That moment had been somewhat fleeting and she'd been searching for it again ever since. Now, just having Helen around felt that way. Whether she was sitting on the other side of the couch with her Kindle in hand, paying no attention to anything else at all, or like now, kissing a path across the most sensitive patch on Carol's neck as she hummed in pleasure, it was all the same. And Carol knew better than she'd known anything about herself ever that they'd wake up tomorrow morning and the morning after and every morning for years with a ring on her wedding finger, and that feeling would never pass.

 

It worked both ways, the way it was meant to do with soulmates: _when I picture myself happy, it's with you_.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
